


If This Is To End In Fire

by Lothiriel84



Series: I See Fire [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama, Gen, M/M, Mind Palace, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said you were prepared to burn. Prepared to shake hands with me in hell, if I wanted you to."</p><p>A sequel to <i>And I Hope That You Remember Me</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Is To End In Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to 3x03. The title is a reference to the song _I See Fire_ by Ed Sheeran.

_You have to focus_ , he instructed himself, and his thoughts briefly strayed to Molly for some reason. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand, especially with Jim Moriarty sneering at him.

“Don’t be boring, Sherlock. You know you want it too.”

A deal with the devil. Two of the smartest minds of the century working together. Tempting indeed, and yet he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be like him.

No friend of John’s would do it. And he was John’s best friend, wasn’t he?

If only he could remember who he was. Who Moriarty was – the real psychopath behind the mask.

“You may have forgotten it, but you’ve never really liked your brother. He always assumes he’s the smartest man in the room, always says you’re the stupid one. Well, that’s annoying, isn’t it?”

“Even if that was true, you’re doing just the same. Where’s the difference?”

“Oh, but I _like_ you. That makes all the difference in the world.”

“Are you getting sentimental now?”

“Not sentimental, honey; never sentimental. You’re me, remember? That’s why I like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you remember out conversation on that rooftop? You said you were prepared to _burn_. Prepared to shake hands with me in hell, if I wanted you to.”

“I didn’t though,” he countered, fairly certain that his assumption was actually correct.

Moriarty shrugged. “No. But then, I didn’t really kill myself, did I?”

“How did you fake it?”

“You want to know, don’t you? Give me your precious brother, and I’ll tell you.”

“Please. They would convict me for high treason if I did.”

“Honey, you were willing to bargain with a man like Magnussen. A blackmailer who held the destiny of many a country in his hands.”

“That was just a ruse,” he clarified, blurred memories swirling about his brain. “I – shot him in the end,” he added in something close enough to surprise.

He could remember it now, standing in the sunset with Mycroft staring down at him from the helicopter. Then the gunshot – _Merry Christmas!_ – and John shouting in dismay.

It was if a dam had suddenly broken. All his memories flooded back like a tide, waves roaring against the walls of his mind palace.

 

_Shaking hands with John right before he boarded the plane that would take him back to Eastern Europe. ‘_ _An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months,’ his inner Mycroft pointed out, before dropping the cigarette and treading it out. ‘Also, your loss would break my heart.’_

_Mrs Hudson chose that moment to walk into the living room of his mind. ‘He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that.’_

_‘Sorry – which of us?’ mind-palace Mycroft demanded in annoyance._

_‘Both of you.’_

_‘That’s not the end of the world; that’s Mrs Hudson,’ he pointed out somewhat incoherently when a disdainful look crossed his brother’s face._

_‘All lives end. All hearts are broken,’ Mycroft felt the need to clarify. ‘Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.’_

_He turned around to see The Woman making her entrance. ‘Everything I said, it’s not real,’ she whispered softly. ‘I was just playing the game.’_

_‘I know. And this is just losing,’ he countered easily, opening the window in a swift move and jumping down._

_‘Sherlock!’ John yelled, and the mind palace abruptly faded away._

 

“I am you, am I not?” he murmured, taking a step forward. He could see a glimpse of childish happiness lighting up Moriarty’s face, and he relaxed his lips in the imitation of a genuine smile.

The consulting criminal didn’t want him dead anymore. His pupils were dilated now, just like the Woman’s; Jim Moriarty loved himself too much, and now Sherlock had proved that he was him.

He leaned forward, ghosting his lips just an inch away from his nemesis’. Moriarty instinctively closed his eyes, didn’t open them even when the barrel of his own gun was pressed against his temple.

“You’re even better than me, honey,” Jim murmured somewhat affectionately. “Thank you.”


End file.
